But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charging hard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselves savagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. He crumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on his head and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over the goal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark raving mad. Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment he would not have changed places with an emperor. The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lying flat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim and lifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the ground when the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed, ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the "Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them a rousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest. Then the crowds swept down like a tidal wave from the stands and submerged the doughty fighters. The Blues, all muddy and disheveled as they were, were hoisted on the shoulders of their exulting comrades and carried from the field. And it was all they could do to get away from them and repair to their shower and rubdown, never before so needed or so welcome. The campus blazed that night with bonfires and resounded with noises that "murdered sleep." But all the pleading that the team might take part in the festivities fell unheeded on the ears of the two inexorable tyrants, Hendricks and Reddy. Happy and exulting tyrants just then, but tyrants none the less. "Not until they lick the 'Greys,'" was "Bull's" decree. "If they do that they can split the town wide open. Until then the lid is on." There was no appeal from his decision, and by nine o'clock the weary warriors were tucked away in bed to dream of past and hope for coming victory. Dick was just dropping off when a voice came from Bert's bed: "Say, Dick, what's the greatest game in the world?" "Football," was the prompt reply. "And, Dick, what's the greatest team in the world?" "The Blues," averred Dick stoutly. "Right," assented Bert. "Now go to sleep." CHAPTER XII THE COACH ROBBERY ONE morning Bert received a letter that caused him to emit a wild whoop of joy, and then set off post haste to find Tom and Dick. He discovered them at last on the campus, kicking a ball around, and rushed toward them waving the open letter over his head. "Say, fellows," he shouted when he got within speaking distance of them, "whom do you suppose this letter is from? Bet you a million you can't guess right in three guesses." "From the way you seem to feel about it," grinned Dick, "it must contain money from home. I don't know what else could make you feel as happy as you appear to be." "No, it isn't money," replied Bert, "but it's something better."